Frozen in Summer
by the keyboard links me to you
Summary: Furihata was Akashi's personal summer.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It wasn't like Furihata actually wanted to die. No, it wasn't like that at all. It was just that having his days numbered—it was probably the only way he could escape the path his parents carved for him and insistently wanted him to take. Dying—it was the only way he could get away from that route (that compromised his personal dream) and follow the one that had appealed him from the very beginning (the one which included his passion—drawing). That was why, when their family doctor had informed him about the worsening of his (inborn) heart condition—which included him being left with only less than a year to live—he felt weirdly relieved, and unchained. After all, having your requests granted and your decisions supported—it was a perk of dying.

_Finally_, he could be free.

* * *

His parents wanted Furihata to become a doctor to continue his family's legacy (they insisted for him to become one, never asking what he wanted to become), but what Furihata wanted for himself was to become an artist. He owed a lot to art (since he wasn't exactly a very social type of person, he would always be alone; if it wasn't for his ability to draw, he would have been lonely beyond help), and so he thought he wanted to give back to the thing that had given him so much support—even more than his parents or any friend ever had.

Don't get him wrong though. He wasn't trying to play martyr or anything. Aside from his want to repay art for the company it had given him, there was also his fascination, burning passion and natural talent in making art. It not only caught his interest. He didn't just want to create art. There was also the feeling it gave him—drawing was the only thing he felt good at. It was the only thing he would feel competent whenever he's doing it. Art—drawing made him feel as if he lived for a reason.

And so there he was now, in front of the gates of the art school he had always wanted to be in.

After hearing the tragic news from his doctor, confronting his parents about his condition and what he wanted to do about it and taking a talent test to get admitted in his dream (art) university, _finally_, there he was now, up close and inside the campus he thought he'd never be able to set foot in.

"I…I'm r-really here, a-aren't I?"

On the last days of his life, he was about to cease from just existing and was about to start living.

The irony—but the beauty in that irony.

* * *

In one of the rooms located in one of the buildings in the university, sitting in front of a blank canvas was a redhead man with a pair of mismatched eyes of gold and red. He had a pale, photoshopped-like flawless and smooth skin, pale-looking pink lips, a well-proportioned body and calloused (but slender) hands. He wasn't the tallest man out there, but he was definitely an eye-candy (he had an intimidating aura to him though).

As of the moment, with a frown carved on his elegant features and lips pressed together, he narrowed his eyes towards the blank canvas before him.

_What to paint, what to paint?_

Getting up from his small chair, he walked towards his window to get a breath of fresh air only to spot a brunette walking along the trees of cherry blossoms from a (not too far away) distance. He was wearing a blissful type of expression, but—_what's this?_—there was a hint of loneliness underneath his eyes.

_He was perfect_—the perfect model that was.

Opening his eyes by a fraction, he intently (and intensely) stared at the walking brunette. In his mind, he sketched him in high definition, taking note of even the tiniest details.

_The look in this boy's eyes_, he mused as he sketched in his mind, _is like summer._

_It's refreshing, but evokes nostalgic memories of the past._

Definitely, it was a rare sight, and he hoped to be able to keep those feelings _alive_ in his canvas—to freeze the look of summer.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm just really enchanted by the idea of artist!Akashi and artist!Furihata. Please don't mind me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

With sweat running down along various places of his face, Furihata plopped down to his side on the floor. Keenly staring at his half-filled canvas, he allowed his lips to break into a soft smile.

To be constantly drawing, painting, sketching and creating art—he never though the day would come when he'd be allowed to do so. As disappointed as he felt regarding his situation, he couldn't help but feel thankful. If it wasn't for this sudden cut off in his lifespan, then none of this wouldn't have been possible.

It's been just one week, and yet, he could already tell—the remaining few months of his life would make up for all the years he had lost, trying to accept the path his parents had made for him and compromising what he wanted for himself.

_Perhaps everything really does happen for a reason._

And maybe what's meant to be really will be.

* * *

Encountering terrible migraines were becoming more often for Akashi lately. Perhaps it was stress, or maybe hunger, or—well, whatever it was, it was definitely unpleasant. It was a hindrance—hindering him from finishing whatever it was he'd be working on. Heaving an exasperated sigh with brows furrowed together, he put his brush down and rubbed his temples with his fingers. He hoped that by doing so, the pain would go away soon.

Much to his dismay, it didn't. In fact, it got even worse.

He let out a groan.

Getting up from his chair, he cautiously walked over to where his bag was and fished out his mini-medicine box from there. Opening it, he got himself an aspirin, took out a bottle of water from the bag then drank. It wasn't until after a minute that he pain went away. Feeling the relief, he snorted and walked back to his chair.

Now back on his place, he picked up his paint brush and pulled closer his palette. Just when he was about to return back to his painting, he noticed—_I'm out of red._ He turned to the box of poster paint beside him and picked up the container for the red paint. Unscrewing its cap and seeing it empty, he snorted.

_I need a refill._

Realizing so, he got up from his chair again and headed out of the art studio he occupied to maybe borrow a red poster paint from someone—or anyone—within the vicinity. If all else failed, then he just had to buy himself one—_tomorrow_. Screw the inconvenient distance between this school and the art shop.

* * *

After a quick nap, Furihata went back up on his chair and continued the painting he was working on. As he did, he realized that he had run out of red poster paint to color his tulip with—the theme of his painting was _love_, and apparently, thanks to a Turkish legend, red tulips symbolized 'perfect love', therefore, that just had to be there (and as if he didn't have red roses to paint too).

Clipping his paintbrush in between his middle finger and forefinger, he placed his hands on his waist and let out a sigh after giving his paint one quick glance.

"It seems like I'm out of—"

It was when he was thinking out loud when he felt someone enter the studio he was occupying. Turning to where he felt the presence, he saw a redhead lad with a pair of heterochromic eyes of red and gold.

_Oh_

"Excuse me,"

_My_

"Do you have any red poster paint I can use?"

_God_

Standing in front of him was a stunning stud—and coincidentally, he's out of red paint too!

"I…"

* * *

_Have you ever heard of probability? Probability is the chance of something happening. Did you know that the odds of something happening is always zero between one?_

* * *

"I'm out of r-red paint too, b-but this may sound weird, b-but…uhmm…I'm new around here and all, so maybe…uhmm…"

* * *

_The probability of meeting all the people you've met, you're meeting and you'll meet are one out of more than a billion, so meeting all of them is practically miracle._

* * *

"I w-was thinking i-if maybe w-we could g-go buy r-red paint t-together."

* * *

_A meeting, whether a good or bad, is a miracle. All meetings are miracles—a miracle of two out of billions._

_Fascinating, isn't it?_

_Meetings, red strings and red paint._

* * *

**A/N: **I apologize but I cannot answer your question, Fran-san (I know the answer's quite obvious but I don't want to answer it directly XD). And yes, this is it, Calico-san (or is it really? xD). I made some revisions though—a lot of revisions (sort of). xD

I just realized how romantic analytic geometry can be so I just had to insert the probability thing there. Asdfghjkl.


End file.
